Between The Hammer And The Anvil
by Nosfrat
Summary: One man. One safe room. One doorway, One Witch. Zero ammo. Originally started as my take on the typical L4D Witch spawns when you're alone at the end of a chapter... Continued as a short One-Shot I wrote under the influence of alcoholic beverages. K for very, very mild 'violence', 'language' and 'sensuality' (not really).


I was completely and utterly screwed.

Behind me? A fifty feet high building.  
To my left? Another building, just as high.  
To my right? A large parking lot with about a hundred common infected roaming around.  
In front of me? A safe house, with the door wide open, and lots of supplies visible on the inside. And also... a Witch. A few feet away from me, right in the doorway, her back turned to me.  
On my back? An empty HAMR assault rifle, just as heavy as it is useless, now without ammunition.

The fire escape I used to get back to ground level had broken under my weight, and while I didn't get hurt too badly in the process, I clearly couldn't get back up here. I couldn't take on a Witch or a massive horde with a single USP .45 either. My heart was starting to race, droplets of sweat were dripping down my forehead, and into my eyes. I wiped them off, the sudden movement making my weapon hit the wall behind me. The muffled 'thud' was enough to get the Witch's attention, who was now growling and looking back at me.  
That was it, I was going to die. I waded through several miles of infected-filled wasteland, killed thousands of those bastards, and even a few Tanks all by myself, and now I was going to die to a single Witch, just because she thought the doorway of a safe room was a suitable place for her sobbing session. On the brink of death, I could safely say that my (lack of) luck in life will have remained consistent to the very end.

Before the infection, things weren't so different for me. I was always a loner, I always loathed everything and everyone. Living by myself, despising pretty much everything about the human race. The only true difference now, was that whatever was left of the human race, was truly out to get me. And I could take them down. Rage and sadness were starting to overcome fear. The Witch was now nearly standing up, looking at me with glowing, fiery eyes. I returned an equally hateful glare, cracking my knuckles and dropping my weapons to the ground. I was doomed, but I was -not- going down without a fight. I took off my leather jacket, tossed aside my combat knife, and waited for it, my stance practically screaming 'bring it on!'.

It. The dreaded moment, where she would be officially 'startled', and open her arms wide before sprinting toward me for the kill. I had to time it just right. Her head was shaking, and so were my legs. Her growls were getting louder and louder, until she let out a long screech, and fully opened her arms.

With all my might I started sprinting toward her, both my arms reaching for hers. She had just started moving but before she could get a swipe in, I collided with her. As strong and dangerous as her claws were, her malnourished, infected body was no match against the rage-filled, adrenaline-powered 270 pounds monster I was. My forward momentum sent us both crashing on the ground, inside the safe room. Her head hit the pavement, and before she could recover from the blow, I wrapped my hands around her wrists. Clenching as hard as I could, I pinned both her arms to the ground, rendering her claws useless. I was on my knees, straddling her, my head bent over hers, glowing amber eyes looking into fiery hazel ones. Long strands of hair cascading down my shoulders, and brushing against her face. Her face, now filled with fear. She was helpless without her claws and she knew it.  
While she could have easily kicked me in the nuts, then thrown me off her before eviscerating me, the infection had damaged her brain beyond such thoughts. She was just here, below me, looking at me with a somewhat puzzling expression. I couldn't quite figure out if she felt fear, anger, sadness...

I was here, inside the safe room, but so was she... And especially after what I just did to her, trying to move, let alone trying to throw her out, would be a death sentence. I had the advantage, she was helpless as long as I remained atop of her but, that was about it. I couldn't tie her up, I couldn't kill her...  
My only hope was to try to show her I didn't want to harm her. My current position and her infected state were leaving me with one single option. Trying my best to ignore fear, and disgust, I closed my eyes, brought my head closer to hers, and pressed my lips against hers. They were puckered, dry and rather cold, but kind of... comforting. After a few seconds, she still hadn't reacted. I opened my eyes and much to my surprise, the fear in hers seemed to be gone. She was growling... No, she was... purring?

I felt her arms relaxing in my grip, as she pressed her lips harder against mine, practically kissing me. I had no idea what I was doing but I released my grip on her right arm, freeing my left hand, and brought it to her cheek. I felt her arm move suddenly, and I thought it was the end, I closed my eyes, still liplocked with her. I didn't feel anything... Until she brought her arm to her face, and carefully placed her palm against my hand, still brushing her cheek.

And strangely, in that moment... I had stopped caring whether I was going to die or not.


End file.
